


Day 7: Pie

by dreamingbackwards



Series: 25 Days of Fic 2012 [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:00:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingbackwards/pseuds/dreamingbackwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles is hunting for the proper pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 7: Pie

Derek loves peach pie. Or is it pumpkin pie? Hell, maybe it's pudding pie. Stiles completely forgot which, and now he's staring at a Wall O' Pie in the bakery with a dead cell phone. Shit. 

Okay. Time to logic it out, Stiles, come on.

 It can't be pudding pie. Derek is allergic to both fun and happiness, so that's out. That also means the pumpkin pie is out, since that's made with condensed milk and holiday cheer. It can't be cherry pie, because Derek refuses to eat cherry Tootsie Pops, and it's not strawberry-rhubarb because Stiles hates rhubarb and he knows he was just as excited about the pie as Derek was, even if Stiles was more enthusiastic about showing it.

Four down, approximately fifty thousand to go. Who knew there were this many kinds of pie? And whose idea was it to send him here twenty minutes before closing?

Stiles isn't entirely sure what a mincemeat pie is, but frankly, it sounds terrifying. It's not banana cream pie. It's not French silk, or Mississippi mud, or anything sugar-free- werewolves don't really need to watch their diets. It's not blueberry because Isaac would bitch about it staining his shirt, and it's not pecan because Thanksgiving is at the McCall place, and Mrs. M hates nuts. 

Shit, he read the clock wrong. It's ten minutes to closing, and the baker is giving him a seriously pissy look. Stiles doesn't blame him. He'd probably do the same if a twitchy teenager was frowning at pies and keeping him from locking up early. 

There are meringues and chiffons and pies with Oreo crusts, and there are pies with crisscross top crusts and no top crusts at all. And then, at the bottom of the display case, is a plain old apple pie. Well, not old, it looks fresh. Just old-fashioned. And Stiles cannot count the number of times he's seen Derek crunching on big green apples, so he buys it and thanks the baker and flees, practically running to Derek's Camaro and slamming the door shut in a huff. 

"Pie. An apple pie. That's what we were supposed to get, right?" Stiles puffs. 

With a smirk, Derek pulls out of the parking lot. "Yep, a nine-inch apple pie. Perfect."

Tomorrow, Scott will bring out the desserts, and they'll find out that Stiles was actually supposed to get a cherry one. He won't mind being wrong when he sees Derek eat half of the extra apple pie and grin at him from across the table. 


End file.
